


Bird on a Wire

by miriad



Category: Birds of Prey (Comic)
Genre: F/M, Yuletide, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miriad/pseuds/miriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barbara Gordon's wings have been clipped and the world hasn't been the same since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird on a Wire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amilyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amilyn/gifts).



> Written for amilyn. Thanks to geek_mentality for all her help. No spoilers for anything recent.

Barbara Gordon has never been all that good with the word 'no'. She never took it from her father, not if she really wanted something, she never accepted it from Batman, and she certainly never took the word 'no' as anything other than hot air from all of the various villains that she ran into as Batgirl. However, she's found the one thing that she hasn't been able to fight, the one thing that has said no to her and she hasn't been able to throw that back.

Her legs simply won't take her direction, won't fucking work and there isn't anything that she can do to fix that. Bruce has all these ideas that could fix her but they aren't for sure and they could, in fact, make things worse and for the first time in her life, she takes the word no and runs with it.

It's not that she's scared or anything.

Well, yeah, actually. It is. She's terrified. For the first time, she's scared that if she tries something and she fails, that it won't just be a moment where she shakes it off and keeps going. It'll be that moment where she has to accept that she's lost the use of her legs and that is never going to change. Right now, as things stand, there are still options on the table, still directions that she can go, should she choose to, and there's something comforting about that, even though she knows that they're going to sit there in perpetuity.

Barbara Gordon hasn't lost everything. She still has her connections, still has her friends, still has Dick and Tim, Dinah. Bruce, for all the good that does her. She has a job, a very good, well paying one that keeps her in the game, in the loop, still fighting the bad guys, even if it's a bit more hands-off than she'd like. She still has a life but it's a life that's so far removed from what she had before, from what she wanted, dreamt of, that it hurts to think about. So she doesn't.

With a steaming cup of earl gray, one of the few remnants of her obsession with Captain Picard, she sits in her chair in front of the bay of computer screens and works, her mind humming along with all the motors and fans whirring in the backs of all of the computers set up on this side of the Clocktower. The super computer sits in the next room and while it would probably get things done a bit faster if she used it, the room is cold, too cold for her current outfit and she doesn't want to deal with the pain in the ass that it'll be if she changes now.

There are a few notes left for her on the specially encoded instant messenger service, one from Tim about a lead that he thinks he's found and one from Dick, asking about dinner tomorrow. She taps out the required responses and watches the video feed from the docks out of the corner of her eye.

Things have been a bit quiet and that worries her, although she'll never admit it. Legs of rubber, spine of steel, that's her. Ever since she was shot (and yeah, she can think it, can form the words in her brain but can't quite get them to come out of her mouth)- since she was attacked- since she was devastated in the front room of her father's house, she's been waiting. Waiting for the next thing to come hurtling at her. It's a much bigger deal, now that she can't dodge out of the way as easily as she could before. Not that it helped all that much in the end. Still... she waits.

There's random chatter over the coms from Dinah, various bits of gossip, news from around Gotham and around the world that Dinah just has to pass along. It's really a joke- she knows that Barbara doesn't give a shit but it creates a system for knowing when the coms are working and when they aren't. And it takes away from the silence of the Clocktower.

It's easy to get lost in the quiet, especially when the majority of the time, you're alone. Not many people drop by, especially uninvited. The Bat and Dick, they get around and see her, Tim on occasion, Cassandra sometimes as well but they aren't the chattiest bunch around and sometimes Barb just needs someone to just talk. At her, with her, just talk.

So she turns up Dinah's feed and clicks on the two-way button, making noises as appropriate regarding the latest fashion trend in Bulgaria. It takes up most of the next hour, then Dinah hits her mark and it's all radio silence and covert ops. Barbara misses it almost more than she misses her legs, but not quite.

Her stomach growls at her and she frowns, not knowing what to make. The grocery delivered supplies to her the day before yesterday so she's all stocked but the decision as to what to make is something that boggles her mind. Tea, a definite. Pasta is promising but could be messy if Dinah makes things more interesting than the mission plan called for. She could call out for pizza but it always shows up just when she can't afford to be away from her consoles.

She still has the leftovers from dinner with her father that more than likely haven't gone bad yet. Steak and potatoes from Jimmy's, the best steak house in the whole world, Bruce's tastes be damned. It's the first thing on the list that sounds even remotely interesting so she pulls out a plate and some silverware, the aluminum take-out container from the fridge and a bottle of sparkling water with- living on the edge here, Gordon- a twist of lime.

Thunder rattles all the glass in the building and she jumps a bit in her chair, then chides herself, having watched three different weather reports on various channels, including the internet feed from the Gotham Meteorology Authority, all calling for thunderstorms. She had sent the notice out herself to Robin and the other folks under her protection. She shouldn't be surprised and yet she is. Off her game. Perhaps for a long while.

But, she reminds herself. She's still alive. She's still here, still breathing, living, still fighting the good fight and actually making a difference. That should make her feel better and it does. Mostly. She cuts the steak, a little tough after sitting in the fridge but still tasty and good. She loads her refreshed cup of tea, her plate and various accouterments onto the travel tray that slides onto the armrests of her chair, then wheels herself back into the computer room.

Barb checks her various systems, finds that she has another IM from Dick. He's already checked in, called it a slow night in Bludhaven and gone home. It's not an unusual thing, especially not lately but she's not sure what she should say to that. Glad there's no crime; sorry you have to go home early? She takes a bite of steak and reaches for the keyboard, to make some sort of comment back when the doorbell rings. She listens to Dinah's feed one last time- nothing yet, so far, so good- and decides that she can at least check out the security feed and see who the hell is visiting at, what time is it? Eleven o'clock at night.

She leaves the tray of food by the computer but takes her mug with her, her taser hidden along her side, easily within reach but out of sight, and heads for the door. She brushes a few crumbs off her legs, one or two attempting to cling to the fleece of her sweat pants. At the security panel, she tunes the monitor to the front entryway and almost chokes.

Dick, dressed in a suit (non-Bat related), holding a bouquet of flowers. They look fresh and local, like he picked them himself, the ones that she likes on the way from Gotham to Bludhaven. He looks good and she takes a glance down at herself and sees that sweats, the t-shirt, old and faded, hair in a ponytail, glasses on. She's a mess. Crap. Still, it's Dick, he knows she's home and he's Bruce's son, so if she doesn't answer the door, he climb the wall or something and end up inside anyway.

She rings him up, unlocks the elevator and tries to make herself look presentable. Not exactly the easiest thing to do when you can't actually run around like a chicken with your head cut off. She sets the mug on the hallway table, no time to run it back to the kitchen and the he's up in the apartment and out of the elevator before she can really start to freak out. He hands her the flowers, let's her look at them, then sets off for the kitchen where he knows she keeps the vases. He takes the mug with him.

Dick moves around the apartment as if he lives there, as if he knows it as well as she does. Barbara likes that and yet she doesn't. It's uncomfortable, having someone know her and knowing this place is a part of knowing her. He's found a vase, one of her mother's that she's had for years and never really used, afraid of breaking it, and he places it on the kitchen table, in between the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin holder that serves no purpose but to pretend that she's living a normal life with visitors and friends as frequent guests.

And with that done, he turns his focus on her and it's like a beam of warm, soft light when he looks at her and smiles. He doesn't say anything, just takes off his coat and loosens the tie that she can't believe he wore. He kneels before her chair, eyes blue and bright and he reaches out with one hand to cup her face. His hands are rough but gentle and she leans into him without thinking. She smiles, lost in his face for a moment.

Dick leans forward, rising on his knees, and kisses her. His lips are sweet and she can taste the toothpaste he used earlier in the evening. He's said nothing since he arrived and she doesn't care. He doesn't need to. His lips, his tongue, his hands- they all speak to her in ways that words can't and as he kisses her, she swears she can fell it all the way to her toes.


End file.
